handstories

where did they go?

 

    Every few days I've wandered across the street to search the ground for walnuts, only to look up at the big old black walnut tree, and see that it hadn't let go yet.  Yesterday I looked out and saw that most of the leaves were off the tree, no nuts in sight, hooray!  Ran across the street, bag in hand . . . nothing.  Circled the neighbor's house . . . nothing!  Did the squirrels take them All?  This has never happened before.  What to think?  What to do?  I had Plans for those nuts.  Nuts.

    The day is dark and rainy, planning to spend much of it snuggled up on the couch, knitting and stitching, snuggled in my tunic.

bohemian or bumpkin?

    The tunic is done and in the wash.  I may still add a piece of fabric across the bottom of the neckline, it ended up lower than expected, we'll see how it goes.  

    There are a few more reinforcements that should happen, but the weather has turned blustery and it needs to be worn!

    There was a funny phone conversation with my sister last week.

    "What's the deal with the tunic?  Are you a hobo now?"

    I was trying to explain holding on to clothes you love, and the enjoyment of mending, " . . . it's a thing now, lots of people are doing it, it's even got a name . . . "

    "It's called collage."  

    "Make-do & mend!"

    This from the person, who in high school, wore old men's button-up shirts for pants- turning them upside-down, legs in the arms, shirt tails tied around her waist, with the neck dangling between her legs.  

    We laughed a lot about it all, with me threatening to wear it my entire next visit, and her reassuring me that it was fine to do my own thing, but I could hear her eyes rolling.

 

an afternoon in pictures

    Watched this spider snack over and over on her catch of the day.  She's living in the window next to the stitching spot.  Her name is Sylvia.

    More stars appeared.  They are slow going.

    Applesauce was made for dinner.  Meaning to cook up a bushel full and can it . . . we'll see.  (Why is it called canning, rather than jarring?) 

    I love our stove.  We bought it with the house, sold separately.  Definitely worth the extra, just for its quirky personality.

dress-code

    Growing up I always wanted a school uniform.  Of course, I wanted it to be jeans and a t-shirt.  The idea of not having to think about what to wear, or worry what others were wearing, sounded just swell.  Well, I've finally got my wish.  At my school the students are in uniform every day, the teachers on Mondays.  It consists of khaki or navy pants/skirt with a navy or white shirt.  It can be a t-shirt if it's a school shirt.  I finally bought the school t-shirt and wore it last week.  The high tight neckline strangled.  I spent all day yanking on it, like a dog trying to get out of its collar.  

    There was an "ah-ha" moment this weekend, and with some snips and stitches, today I was able to breathe again.

    One of my colleagues glanced at the new neckline.  I asked her if it was too wonky or weird?  Turns out she wants her's done, too.  With purple thread.

    

emergent curriculum

    Reading Group:  (after getting all four of them to come to the table, with their books, and to settle down, and stop looking at each other).  We read along fine enough for the first few minutes, and then . . .

    ". . . he was at his wits end . . . "

    "What does that mean?"

            Well, . . .

    "Is it like the end of a story?"

    "Are we at the end of the book?"

        No.  When he says he's at his wits end, it means . . .

    "He was being stupid."

    "You're being stupid."

            Hey, let's focus on the book.  Being at your "wits end" means feeling really frustrated and you don't know what to do . . ."

    "This book is stupid."

    And down the hill we all went in a matter of seconds.  It was longer and faster than I've described here, and ridiculous.  I gave up using words and just sat there, trying.  Trying to think of the magic words that would get us all back on track.  Nothing.   But then . . .

    "Look at her face!"

    "It's all red-ed up!"

    "She's at her wits end!"

    "Shhhh!"

            Yes, I am, and none of you want to see the end of my wits.  

            Let's read.

    And we did.  I'm counting this one as a win.

    Note to self:  Keep your wits about you.

celestial therapy

    Leaving school yesterday, after a Rough Day for All, a day where All of us were lacking Coping Skills, for the first time in my life I thought, "I understand why people smoke."  (This coming from someone who forty years ago gave her dad a birthday gift of a poster of an elephant's behind that read "No Ifs, Ands, or Butts…Smoking Stinks".)

    But then I came home,

        and stitched some stars . . .

            and then some more . . .

   Back at school today . . . all of us quieter, calmer, all of us trying, and realizing that sometimes trying is enough.  Yesterday, some refused to even acknowledge that I was speaking to them, let alone follow directions, today many had moments of shining.  I called them all "rock stars" and penciled stars on their papers, asking the classroom teacher, "Did you sprinkle magic fairy dust?"

    There are a lot more stars to stitch, and moments to make.

hat check . . . 7, 8 & 9

    There are a rainbow of reasons why I'm loving knitting up these hats.

    These three have me on the lookout for my old kaleidoscope.  The top topper is knit in this pattern from tin can knits.  Although it doesn't show up well in these stripes, it was a fun and fast knit that I will make again.

monday memories: memory in the making & perspective

   Saw this sign yesterday…

    I first wrote about our cleaning issues here, how we are not the tidy-clean-every-Friday kind of people.  A friend is always telling me I need to "hold some cards", that everyone doesn't need to know everything. In general I blurt and babble most of my thoughts/truths/opinions.  I tell her, "I have no cards, never have, probably never will.  They're probably lost in the piles."   I sent her this photo, saying that the state of my house is further proof of my lack of cards.  I do love this sign.  It really is all in how you look at things.  

    Which reminded me of this old piece (which I was able to find, thank you very much).  

    Another example of why it's useful to be able to put a new twist on things happened on Saturday evening.  After spending the day with a bit of a bug, wearing old flannel GoodWill shirt, unbrushed hair stacked up on my head, amidst the usual chaos of our house (and then some), while heading back to the couch, toast and tissue in hand, Blue and girlfriend unexpectedly walked in the door.  This was the first real meeting we'd had with her. (Other than waving hello from the car, and one handshake of introducing myself, "Hi, I'm Cindy. I worry." (In my defense, they were going on a hike in unknown territory, a ways away . . . and they did get a flat tire and were hours late.)).  So, there she stood, a lovely, polite, composed young woman, in the middle of our blurry chaos.

    Oh well, if they last, we can laugh about it someday, if and when she's grown comfortable with the clutter.  If they don't make it, she will have a story to tell.

    Maybe we should hang the sign as a warning announcement on our door?

it's in the doing

    It's been a bit since I've done any stitching on this piece.  While wondering if I'd lost my way with it, and how to get back en route, it turned out it was as simple as picking up some small snips of cloth.

    The thin needle was happy to dive back into the sea.

    This drift of scraps had been rolled up inside it.  They were meant for something in the sky, that's all I can remember.

    Well, that idea has sailed, and now they are being trimmed into shape for a different voyage.

layering

With tea.

With self.

With "uncertainty".